


I'm Just Here To Break (A Sweat)

by Mossbeast



Category: Bleach
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:55:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29491644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mossbeast/pseuds/Mossbeast
Summary: He wakes up, drenched in sweat, heart beating, cock so stiff that it hurts. One of these days he's going to combust if they keep this going.
Relationships: Grimmjow Jaegerjaques/Kurosaki Ichigo
Comments: 4
Kudos: 51
Collections: Welcome to Horny Jail!!





	I'm Just Here To Break (A Sweat)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ArisuAmiChan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArisuAmiChan/gifts), [chujellies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chujellies/gifts), [sleepdeprivedtechie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepdeprivedtechie/gifts).



> You didn't seriously think I was done with my bastard childe, did you?

He wakes up, drenched in sweat, heart beating, cock so stiff that it hurts. One of these days he's going to combust if they keep this going. It's exciting, it's hot, it tastes like sweat and breath catching in the back of his throat, like cum on bloody fingers and the flavor of sex in the air. Sleeping, _dreaming_ , becomes his new almost-favorite retreat. It's the only time his desires are reciprocated. It gets better every damn time.

When he closes his eyes, he sees hard muscles shift under scarred skin, the tiniest dusting of freckles on high cheekbones, expressive eyes drowned by pupils blown wider than looks healthy. He can almost feel the body between his hands, radiating warmth and self-assuredness, cradling him with devotion and the urge to protect. Right there, on his lap and his alone he'd be safe to scream and cry as they fuck and kiss and bite and claim each other, bruising in entirely new ways they haven't been employing before.  
"Oi! Are you ignoring me!" Great. Not even a question. His mind is made up on the topic already. He brushes his hand over the column of his throat before clearing it and calling across Urahara's bunker: "What do you want? I didn't remember coming here to listen to you whine."  
His training partner's nose wrinkles, lip drawn up in an almost sneer - _his mouth looks so soft, how would it feel to kiss the sneer away, lick at the perfectly pink seam and sharp teeth, taste whatever atrocity he considers food on his tongue but mostly himself, perhaps the metallic tang of blood from their spar_ \- before he spits: "I didn't come here to watch you daydream."  
Objectively, he knows it's impossible that he knows about the dream that has been occupying him for the better part of the week. Doesn't help that all the brooding and agonizing over details makes the dream repeat itself, several times a night sometimes, he vivid and real with every repetition. He still fears the reaction when all of this comes to a head. He doesn't want to lose what they have, hours spent quietly watching, silently agonizing over wanting to touch but not wanting to admit the depravity of what they do. He hates it, hates the distance, the tension between them that is oddly sexual at times, but at the same time he craves it, needs it like blood in his veins, hot and warm, a rush of oxygen and hormones, it's like whenever he's watching is the only time he can breathe.

Calling the images to the front of his mind is second nature by now, he presses his forehead against the cold, rough wall of the cave deep in the forest of Menos, one hand wrapped firmly around his dick, the other clawing against the cold stone. Hips jerking, chest heaving, he remembers the soft calls, the whines, recalls them over and over to feel the tingle in his gut again and again, the sharp zing of pleasure down his spine, weak knees and heart beating so fast it feels like it's about to break through his sternum. One day it might, with all that he's been through a stress fracture seems not too far fetched.

His cum feels warm against his skin, he can feel it running over his hands, dripping down his fingers and soiling his clothes. It feels wrong, dirty, as it seeps into his clothes and sticks them to his skin, and the lightness that had coursed through his veins suddenly turns to leaden despair.

And it gets worse when they fight later that day.  
"Where's your head at? Are you giving up on me?" No, no, he isn't giving up because what little touch he can get out of this, he will have it but it's just not enough. _At this rate he fears it will never be enough_.

༻❁༺ ༻❁༺ ༻❁༺

Up on their usual perch, the bunker owner and his cat friend watch two of the arguably strongest people in the entire universe fight and trade half-hearted insults. It looks normal at the first glance, but they are both distracted and to onlookers as vigilant as Kisuke and Yoruichi, it doesn't fly under the radar. Then again, they didn't stay alive for centuries by being unobservant. It's second nature to watch and pick up on tiny things.  
"Do you think it's a good idea if they keep this up?", Yoruichi asks after a while and Kisuke shrugs. He doesn't know, he just thinks it's funny as shit that these two are so stuck in whatever narrative they're running in their heads that they don't realize that pretty much the entire world knows. Their scents and reiatsu have mixed to a point where it becomes impossible to detangle them, and they're always, always glued to each others' sides, more aggressive, especially with others around.  
"One of these days Ichigo's gonna snap", she sighs. "Isshin won't be happy."  
"I don't think Isshin has a lot of room to be judgemental", Kisuke replies, somewhat diplomatically. "He pretty much smacked the kid headfirst into a wall two days after waking up from a three month coma."  
"Ichigo can deal with violence and aggression. Feelings though?" The black cat sighed. "I'm not sure the kid ever learned to acknowledge a feeling that wasn't righteous fury."  
"You can't pull him out of there now. If he doesn't kill you, Grimmjow will and then they'll just get back to whatever weird foreplay they're never gonna act on." Kisuke flips open his fan and covers his face.  
"Maybe the bloodshed would be enough to jar them into action", Yoruichi muses. Kisuke's eyes glint dangerously.  
"JINTA! GET YOUR ASS IN HERE!"

༻❁༺ ༻❁༺ ༻❁༺

The red-headed goblin from the shoten was a barely tolerated presence on normal conditions, but during a fight with his mortal enemy? The guy he'd claimed as his own prey? It was a wonder that Jinta was able to limp away from them, and the only reason Grimmjow let him was because Ichigo knelt on his back, effectively pinning him to the floor. Because it is everything he wants, and then some. He imagines flipping them over, rubbing his crotch against Ichigo's just like the more animal instincts in him scream at him to do, spread the most intense smell he can produce on what is his. Just like Ichigo is subconsciously spreading his own scent on Grimmjow just now.  
"Go away", he hisses weakly. "I need to catch that bastard!"  
"He learned his lesson!", Ichigo yelled back, fighting to keep the arrancar under control. "He's barely alive after you yote him into my getsuga tensho!"  
"After I what?! _Get off me Kurosaki!_ "  
"Or what?", the shinigami hisses.  
"Or you'll regret it!" Okay, _maybe_ not his best comeback ever but with their violent history he hoped that it would suffice. He really couldn't afford for Ichigo to notice how much his blood started to race, being pinned by the familiar and comfortable weight. Grimmjow never meant to focus on it so intently, but their bodies fit together so well, it made it even harder to gather his resolve and shatter the hold Kurosaki had on him. He did it anyway. 

Cold air rushing against where Kurosaki had been trapping his and Grimmjow's bodyheat against the Arrancar's back had him bite his tongue in an attempt to stifle a hiss of displeasure. He took off after Jinta but Kurosaki had bought the brat enough time to scamper off into the relative safety of the shop on the other side of the trap door. A snarl tore its way through his vocal chords and he circled the ladder, hoping that the kid was stupid snough to poke his head inside the bunker again.  
"They do say to never separate two courting alphas", Kurosaki's hollow warbled behind him. Grimmjow tore around to see Kurosaki sporting an unhealthy crimson skin tone on his cheeks and forehead, hands slapped over his mouth and eyes blown wide in terror. He smirked at the human before crossing the bunker with sonido.  
"Still chaperoning? Isn't Kurosaki old enough to make his own mistakes?" The hollow laughed his terrible, dissonant cackle in reply to Grimmjow's slighty salty question.  
"Didn't take you for the jealous type, kitty. Interesting. I'll let you get back to whatever you were doing. Do be safe." Another cackle and then the black sclera receded, leaving Kurosaki to sink to his knees and cover his entire face in his hands. Seemed like the hollow was just as keen as Grimmjow to have the shinigami break.

༻❁༺ ༻❁༺ ༻❁༺

Another night, another dream so intense that the wet spot on his pants was so uncomfortable that he shimmied out of his clothes and dropped himself back onto the still sleep-warm surface, allowing himself to drift back into the softer world his memories supplied. Soft skin, divided by silken marks, scars, tiny ones, littering every inch, moving so closely together they didn't register as scar tissue until he got close enough to see the difference. A lifetime of war, of sacrifice and pain, etched forever onto smooth planes, curving over well-trained, strong muscles and sharp bones, bruising red and blue under his touch, however gentle and loving he tried to be but sparring didn't really allow for touch that didn't remain visible for at least an hour or two. Besides, he liked the idea of his counterpart being marked by his own power, clearly visible and also radiating off him in waves of his own reiatsu that dug itself deep into the skin and desperately clawed at it to remain exactly there, safe, warm, protected. And to protect the other everywhere he went, deeper than a scent claim or a verbal agreement. They belonged to each other, unspoken promise of mingled blood and sweat.

He stroked down his chest, imagined how it would feel if _he_ broke and gave in, touched him, tasted him. They would spend hours curled around each other slowly exploring the bodies they'd been watching, yearning to taste, longing to feel up close. His cock twitched on his abdomen, drops of pre-cum trailing out of the slit and onto his belly, their heady scent cloying the air. His hand drifted lower, gently playing with his balls, imagining the hand wasn't his that didn't dare squeeze too tight, but instead attached to someone who had no qualms hurting him in the name of mutual pleasure. He scrubbed his hair out of his face and brought the hand further up, closing it tight around the base of his cock, for a second remembering the cock ring and its glorious results, but then he let go, slowly jerking himself to completion, eyes focused on a hazy memory of a dream where he didn't do this on his own but with a pair of strog hands to guide his every move and direct him to pleasure.

He came to a quick end remembering the last training session, two bodies pressed so close, so close, if not for two thin layers of clothing they would have been perfect, perfect, close and warm and there was little doubt that they'd both struggled to let go of the moment. Either of them could have broken the spell, he realized, they'd been so pent up that the tiniest jerk of hips would have kickstarted a reaction that - disappointingly - meant they'd both lost, both broken under the intensity of their game.  
"Uhhh...", he heard himself groan as he kept stroking himself past the point of pleasure and into pain, until he could not bear it any longer. He brought his soiled hand to his lips, licking the drops off, pretending it wasn't his own, familiar bitter flavor coating his tongue but another, slightly different one. He imagined it to be a little sweet, just enough for it to be even more enticing and addictive, just like the other's scent and reiatsu. He laid flat on his back and stared at the ceiling, counting tiny cracks and specks, anything really, to distract him from the deep-seated longing under his sternum.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, as always. Have a late Valentine's Story 🖤✨
> 
> Nr 8 is in the works already and it's got the big reveal and the break! Promise! But I'm definitely nowhere near sober enough to wrangle the mess that is me taking multilingual notes _while I write_ apart. Sorry!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this little bit anyway 🖤🖤🖤


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